Kelly Meding - As Lie the Dead

“I hope he takes me to Call. I’ll get what answers I can before anything goes down, then pass them on to you. We go from there.”

“I hate that plan.”

“Why? Because you can’t play?”

“Yes, and because you’re going in there alone and with no way for us to back you up.”

Phin smiled patiently. “That’s sweet.”

I frowned. “I’m serious, Phin.”

“You know I can take care of myself.”

“Against half a dozen boxers, yeah. What if sixty-odd Dregs decide they don’t trust you and want to turn you into osprey fillets?”

“Won’t happen.”

“You’re damned sure of your acting abilities.”

He laughed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Actually, I’m more sure of my position within the Assembly. Call knows who I am, and no matter how many of his recruits are Therian, he won’t tempt the ire of the entire Assembly by killing me. Maiming, perhaps even some form of torture, but not death. Whatever his goal, this man wants support, not enemies.”

“Unless they’re Triads,” I said with a derisive snort.

“Yes.”

“We can follow you at a distance.”

“They’ll know, Evy. Whether they see you, hear you, or smell you, they’ll know someone’s watching.”

I wasn’t going to win the argument, and I hated losing. Phin was meeting Snow that afternoon no matter what I said. We couldn’t bug him, and we couldn’t follow him. I was out of options. “Okay, fine. Just promise you’ll be careful. I’m not sure of the specifics of this Aluli thing, but something tells me part of it is not letting the Agida die.”

Phin nodded, smiling again, but there was no mirth in his eyes. Just a hard determination. “I’ll be as careful as I can, I promise. Now if we’re done arguing in circles, I’ll go check on lunch.”

“Thank God. I’m starving.” My stomach grumbled at the mention of food. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. “Tell me it’s hamburgers or spaghetti or something—”

“You’re getting broth for now,” Wyatt said. “You haven’t eaten in a while, and we don’t want to shock your system.”

I groaned. “You’re cruel.”

“Only because I care.” The hand on my thigh went around my waist, and I leaned against his chest. Heard his thrumming heart, so strong in my ear. Inhaled his scent—clean and masculine, but missing that hint of cinnamon. Must be a soap or aftershave he’d not had access to since leaving the hospital.

Phin had left at some point, closing the door almost completely.

I nuzzled a little closer, calmed by Wyatt’s embrace. So much had happened, and so quickly, it felt like a month since that night in First Break. What we’d thought was our last night together. I’d wanted so badly to be with him then, and couldn’t. I’d wanted to say I loved him the way he loved me, and couldn’t. He’d said he understood, which amazed me, since I hadn’t understood. I still didn’t understand.

His fingers combed through my long hair. “You should rest up while you can,” he said, breath tickling the top of my head.

“I’ve been sleeping for a day, Wyatt. I’m not tired anymore.”

He laughed. The sound rumbled through his chest and into mine. “Okay, then consider that my thinly disguised plea for a short nap. Not all of us heal like you.”

I pulled away so quickly he jumped. “Am I hurting you?” I felt like a fool, finally noticing how pale he still was.

“No, you didn’t hurt me.” He reached out and brushed a lock of hair off my cheek. “But ibuprofen helps only so much, and my back aches like a son of a bitch.”

I scooted around him, toward the wall side of the twin bed, dragging the blanket with me. My legs barely protested, the only real pain coming from my knee. I lay down on my left side and opened the blanket up to Wyatt.

He accepted the invitation without a word, stretching out next to me. I poked him gently until he rolled over to his left side, and I snuggled up against him. I felt the bandage beneath his shirt, the beat of his heart through his back. It was a complete reversal from the last time we’d “slept together.”

I draped one arm across his waist, and he twined his fingers with mine. I lay awake for a while, listening to him breathe, wondering if this was all we’d ever have. Quiet moments of recovery, scattered among skirmishes and double-crossings and the threat of impending war. One hour of peace every couple of hellish days.

My body had craved his touch since the moment of our first contact six days ago. This new body that I was still trying to understand, full of sensations and memories I had to reconcile with my own. It made my attraction to Wyatt as exciting as it was terrifying. I wanted to love him, but I didn’t know how.

And I still couldn’t convince myself it was worth it. He had died that night at Olsmill, and it had shattered me. What if, the next time, death stuck?

Wyatt grunted softly, and I loosened my grip, unaware I’d held on so tight. “What is it?” he whispered, voice raspy with sleep.

“Nothing.” I kissed the back of his neck. “You rest.”

“Hard to if you keep doing that.”

I smiled and kissed the same spot, just below his short hair. “Doing what?” I asked, and planted another.

He squirmed, his breathing a bit erratic. “I mean it. And the fact that you’re practically naked over there isn’t helping.”

I ceased teasing. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

No, it’s not. But thanks for trying .

He drew my hand up and kissed the knuckles. I settled my head back against the pillow, holding him. Glad to have him for a while.

And for a while, it was enough.

Sunday, 3:37 P.M.

The chicken broth went down easily, and I managed to negotiate for three plain crackers. Wyatt was kind enough to eat his ham sandwich in the hallway, out of sight and out of scent. We were in the process of some steady hobbling around the bedroom, with me in Jenner’s bathrobe, when Phin popped back in.

“I have to leave,” he said.

I nodded. “As soon as you know something—”

“I’ll call.” He left again before I could reply. Saying “Good luck” would have been redundant anyway. I had to trust him. Stabbing aside, he’d kept his promises. I just hated being left behind.

“Think we can get these bandages off?” I asked Wyatt. “It’s hard to know if my knee can bear weight with it wrapped up so tight.”

“Yeah, go sit.”

He retrieved a pair of scissors from the nightstand while I plunked back down on the bed. The bandages kept my legs almost completely straight, and I was eager to make sure the bones had healed right. If they hadn’t and something went down tonight, I’d be hard-pressed to help.

Wyatt knelt in front of me and raised my right leg so that my heel rested on his thigh. Inch by inch, he cut through, revealing pink skin mottled by the tight pressure of the bandages. Up past my knee to where it ended mid-thigh. I flexed, feeling only a little pull as taut muscles started to loosen. I bent the knee, twisted the ankle, and put my foot flat on the floor.

“So far, so good,” I said. “Left leg.”

He repeated the pattern, and on the surface, my left leg looked the same as my right. I moved my ankle first this time. Then lifted, bending gently at the knee. No pain. I bent it farther, drawing my thigh completely to my chest, stretching out the calf and thigh muscles. He stood and stepped back, offering his hand.

I ignored him and stood up. The gentlest twinge crawled through my left knee, but it didn’t buckle. No more aching, no more pain.

“Well?” Wyatt asked.